Hania opened her eyes inside the dream library.
The usual peaceful hush was gone. The central clearing had been turned into an emergency parking-lot support group. A dozen trucks of various shapes and sizes sat in a loose circle. Headlights flickered like worried eyes. One minivan was literally rocking back and forth on its suspension.
Truck-kun occupied the center spot, looking smaller than usual. His headlights were dimmed to a miserable glow.
“…and then she patted my hood with a creamy hand,” he was ranting, voice cracking over the rumble. “After those attempts. After I told her about therapy and explained the support group. She just… she smiled like it was cute. I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to drive off a dream-cliff. That’s allowed, right?”
A battered pickup truck revved sympathetically. “Kid, we’ve all been there. My guy became a demon lord and immediately started collecting waifus. I still have flashbacks.”
A cheerful yellow school bus leaned forward. “Mine turned the entire story into a self-insert harem route. I had to attend emergency sessions for weeks.”
Hania stood just behind a tall shelf, listening. So this is what my subconscious is doing this time. It hosts interdimensional truck therapy.
She stepped into the light. Every headlight snapped toward her at once. Truck-kun’s entire frame sagged. “No. Not here. This is my safe space.”
The pickup’s headlights brightened with curiosity. “Wait… that’s her? The one who chased you for years?”
Hania didn’t say a word at first. She simply stood there in her dream body. She wrapped her arms around herself and spoke in the softest, most innocent voice she could manage.
“I… I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she whispered. “I was just lonely. My parents forgot I existed for months at a time. I read all those stories where someone gets hit by a truck and suddenly they have a family. Someone who shows up and cares.” Her voice cracked perfectly on the last word. “I thought… if I tried hard enough, maybe Truck-kun would understand. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not him.”
The school bus’s headlights went wide with sympathy. “Oh honey…”
The silver sedan in the back actually purred. “She sounds so sad.”
Truck-kun’s engine sputtered. “She’s doing it again! The manhwa manipulation! The poor lonely girl who just wanted love act! Don’t fall for it!”
Hania looked directly at Truck-kun, eyes shining with perfectly timed tears that didn’t quite fall. “You told them I was a villain? After everything? I thought we were friends. I apologized in the last dream. I even asked how you were doing.”
She turned to the rest of the circle, voice trembling just enough. “He never asked about me. Not once. He only complained about how I made his life difficult. While I was lying alone in a studio apartment eating instant ramen and reading stories about fathers who actually showed up.”
The pickup truck let out a low, sympathetic rumble. “That’s rough, kid.”
The minivan stopped rocking and rolled a little closer. “We all have our MCs, but… she sounds like she actually thought about us.”
Hania kept her expression soft, vulnerable, the image of a tired medical student who had only ever wanted belonging. “I’m sorry if I traumatized him. I really am. I just… I wanted what all of you give your protagonists. A fresh start. Someone who notices when you’re gone.”
She sniffled once. It was Oscar-worthy. The entire fleet shifted. Headlights softened. Engines idled gently, almost comfortingly. One by one they started sharing.
“My MC never thanks me,” the pickup admitted. “Just yells ‘level up’ and runs off.”
“Mine treats me like a taxi,” the school bus sighed. “No emotional labor at all.”
The silver sedan nudged Truck-kun gently. “Maybe you were a little hard on her, dear. She seems… sweet.”
Truck-kun’s frame rattled in pure betrayal. “Sweet?! If only you knew how her mind works.”
Hania looked down at her shoes. “I thought if I made it dramatic enough… maybe it would work. I’m sorry I made your life harder. You didn’t deserve that.”
The minivan actually honked softly in comfort. Truck-kun’s headlights flickered like he was short-circuiting. “This is my nightmare. She’s turning you all against me, in my own support group!”
Hania lifted her head, still looking fragile and innocent. “I’m not turning anyone against you. I just wanted to say thank you. To all of you for carrying your protagonists into new worlds. For giving them chances they never had before.” She paused, letting the silence stretch. “Even if some of us… chased a little too hard.”
The fleet rumbled in collective sympathy. The pickup revved once. “You know what? She’s right. We do a lot for our MCs and never get credit. At least she tried to make it special.”
Truck-kun made a sound like grinding gears. “She’s weaponizing empathy! This is worse than the cream hands!”
Hania gave him one last soft, sad look. “I really am sorry, Truck-kun. I hope you can forgive me one day.”
Then she turned and walked back between the shelves, leaving the circle buzzing with supportive rumbles and gentle honks.
Behind her, she heard the silver sedan murmur, “Poor thing. She seems so lonely.”
And Truck-kun’s broken wail: “She’s doing it on purpose! She’s the villain! Why won’t any of you believe me?!”
Hania smiled to herself as the dream began to fade, the glowing books whispering new titles:
How to Turn Your Personal Truck Into the Group Villain Using Only Sad Eyes and Medical-School Empathy
Therapy for Trucks: A Beginner’s Guide (Free Session Provided by One Very Lonely Isekai Victim)
She woke up in the crib with the stuffed rabbit still clutched in her arms and a satisfied smile on her face. Sorry, Truck-kun. But you started it by calling me a villain. Next time, maybe don’t badmouth me to the entire interdimensional fleet.
Somewhere far away, in the space between dreams, she could almost hear one very betrayed engine revving in despair. Hania closed her eyes again, still smiling.
★★★
Hania woke slowly the next morning. The stuffed rabbit was squished against her cheek. Her spider-silk dress had been gently changed into soft nightclothes sometime during the night. Lusha’s doing, no doubt.
She stretched her tiny arms when the door opened and Lusha slipped inside carrying a tray of warm milk.
“Little moon!” Lusha sang, setting the tray down and scooping Hania onto her lap. “You survived your first court event without biting anyone important. I’m so proud. Though that cream-smeared look on the dais was a masterpiece. Very ‘untouchable Noctis heir who doesn’t care about your rules.’”
Hania accepted the milk bottle and gave Lusha a pointed look that clearly said I bit the prince’s pride instead. Close enough.
Lusha suddenly tilted her head, golden eyes narrowing with interest. “Oh. Company.”
Before Hania could process the word, a voice echoed from far below the Tower.
“Dravin! You frost-hearted jelly-maker! My great-grandson told me everything! Kidnapping at a royal birthday! Seriously? Threatening the boy with a spoon? A spoon! I demand an audience, or at least the decency to fix my leg before I slosh all the way home!”
A wet, squelching sound followed, like someone trying to walk through thick pudding while dramatically waving a cane.
Lusha’s lips curved into a delighted, predatory smile. She carried her to the tall window overlooking the Tower’s approach. “Look, little moon. The show has arrived.”
Down below, Leonarth Xyvor Emberlyn was dragging himself across the stone path leading to the main gates. His right leg was still a wobbling, translucent purple jelly that made a humiliating squelch-squelch with every step. His elegant emerald coat was dusty and rumpled, his long red ponytail had come half-undone, and he leaned heavily on a hastily conjured cane that kept bending under his weight.
He stopped, looked up at the Tower, and bellowed again. “I brought expensive gifts for the baby! Let me in before I start reciting every embarrassing story from the Dragon War in public!”
The jelly leg wobbled violently. Leonarth flailed, caught himself, and continued forward with stubborn drama. “This is undignified! I am a Duke! I fought beside you, you reclusive bat!”
Lusha chuckled softly, bouncing Hania lightly on her hip. “There he is. Still manic after all these years. The Emberlyn blood runs hot. It got worse after the Dragon King fell. They see something interesting and they pursue it until it, or they, burn.”
She tapped Hania’s nose gently. “Raylas is already showing the family talent. Kidnapping you for a private conversation? Classic Emberlyn. They make wonderful dogs, really. Loyal in their chaotic way. Good for fetching attention and looking pretty while they do it. But you have to keep them on a very short leash or they’ll set the curtains on fire trying to impress you.”
Down below, Leonarth attempted another step. “Dravin! At least come out and laugh at me properly! This leg is your fault and you know it!”
Lusha’s voice turned lighter, almost gossipy, as she continued braiding a small section of Hania’s silver hair. “Speaking of old scars… Thalindra was married to the man who became the first Emperor of Bumania. When the war ended, he wanted Obelion to submit. Become just another dukedom under the new empire. She would have been Empress, of course. All she had to do was bend the knee and hand over her kingdom.”
Lusha’s eyes gleamed with approval. “She refused. Divorced him the same day he tried to crown himself. Said she’d rather rule a free Obelion than sit on a throne built on surrender. No children from that marriage. She waited decades, stayed stubbornly loyal to her principles, and eventually married one of her own knights. Boring, really.”
She leaned in, voice dropping into a teasing purr. “You wouldn’t marry like that, would you, little moon? All quiet duty and sensible choices? No… I don’t think so. You have too much fire.”
Hania stared down at Leonarth’s dramatic struggle, then back at Lusha. One very clear question burned in her purple eyes.
Kofery always said whoever delivered the final blow to the Dragon King would become emperor. If killing the dragon made someone emperor… why isn’t my father the emperor?
Lusha read it instantly and laughed. “You know what's the best part of the whole mess. Your father delivered the final blow. Walked off the battlefield with the dragon’s heart in one hand and the crown in the other. Everyone expected him to take the throne.”
She paused, letting the image settle. “He looked at the crown, called it ‘bothersome,’ and tossed it to the Bumania faction like it was yesterday’s spoiled milk. Told them to handle the paperwork. Then he went straight back to his tower and resumed his experiments. The Bumania line has been ruling ever since, pretending they earned it through valor instead of one tired archmage’s refusal to do admin work.”
Hania’s mouth fell open in disbelief. A stunned gurgle escaped her. He could have been emperor. And he just… threw the crown away because it was annoying?
Lusha wiped a bit of drool from Hania’s chin with her sleeve, still grinning. “So, next time someone at court is rude to you, remember to ask your father for the empire as a birthday gift. He might actually consider it if it means less paperwork for him.”
Down below, Leonarth had given up on the wards and was now shouting at the windows directly. “I can see you up there! The baby is watching! Are you going to let her see me like this?! Is this the example you want to set?! Father of the year, everyone!”
Hania pointed at Leonarth’s jelly leg. Then at the Tower. Then she made a questioning gesture—what about the curse? What does it do to him?
Lusha's expression flickered.
“The curse on Dravin? Nobody knows. He won’t talk about it or let anyone study it.” She looked toward the laboratory, somewhere deep in the Tower. “The only thing he’s ever said was that it makes him feel like he’s always forgetting something. Like there’s a hole in his head where something important used to be.”
Hania's chest tightened.
Down below, Leonarth finally reached the outer wards. He poked at them with his cane, which immediately started to melt from the defensive magic. “Dravin! At least fix my leg before I have to explain this to the entire Southern Court! It’s still purple!”
Lusha watched the scene with open delight. “Your life is going to be wonderfully hard, little moon.” She bounced Hania once more. “Try to enjoy the chaos.”
Hania clutched the stuffed rabbit tighter and stared down at Leonarth’s jelly-legged struggle, then at the Tower around her.
He tossed away an empire. And now I’m here.
A delighted smile crept across her face.